Waiting in Line. Everywhere I go in México, there are lines. Lines in the taqueria, lines in the mercado, lines in the bank. You go and wait in line. The line could be a five-minute wait or you could be there for an hour. Often, I will see people cut in line, but I just give up and let this go. They are either in a hurry or don’t know about patience. I wait and move up when the line moves, staying steady with my place in the queue. If necessary, I take it on faith, refer to Tom Petty song “The Waiting,” written when I was in the 6th grade.

My truck/vehicle. After 10 years of ownership, my 1996 Ford Ranger has gone to someone else and I am so relieved. Though I will miss the fuel efficiency and boomin’ stereo, I will not miss the lack of air conditioning and manual windows. It was a good ride, taking me from Scooter Rallies to baby showers, tearing up Highway 101, but it was time to go. I am grateful to Valeria and EJ for selling it: another thing I’m happy to give up – with a push from the great biceps earned by yet another “feature”: no power steering.

Ahhh the sweet relief of “See ya!”

Veganism. When I told people I was moving to México, many of them teased me about my dedication to a Vegan diet and volunteeringwith animals, and told me I would die slowly after the move. Ironically, I just adapted. Although I occasionally eat cheese now, I am not a full-on carnivore, nor do I plan on eating my friends any time soon. Admittedly, I am tempted by civeche but I stand firm on chicharrones, and I hope to never give up a plant-based diet. After all, nopales are a plant… so is agave.

Waiting for the Weekend to Party. In case you didn’t pick up on it, I love living in México: the people are friendly, the food is delicious and the beer is plentiful. Which is why I give up on waiting until the weekend to party. I see memes where people can’t wait for the weekend, and they make no sense to me (although many are funny).

Here we party all the time. Monday? Party. New job? Party. Your dog had puppies? Well, what else? Party! At times you may need a break from the party (it’s called siesta, you do it on the beach), and that’s OK. When you come back, we’ll be here. At the party.

Would you believe this is a Tuesday afternoon? Party!

Quiet Nights. My first visit to México was in 2011 and I gave up quiet nights shortly thereafter. When I returned to Sacramento, and lived a block from Spanglish on J Street, it was always noisy, day and night. This prepared me for México, where regular nocturnal sounds include barking dogs, car alarms, wild cat fights, crowing roosters, buses grinding rattly transmissions, stereos blasting Banda Norteño, and verbal arguments of mis vecinos.

Do I care about the noisy nights? Not one bit. Anything my earplugs don’t drown out is like a lullaby… the sounds of a culture I love, minus some cuss words I don’t comprende. Those I just look up in the dictionary… after I wake from sleeping.

Being Cold. I am gladly giving up being cold. Forever. When I lived in San Francisco I wore a down ski vest – sleeping, walking, all but bathing it in (and then I was so cold, I just cried in the shower). In Puerto Vallarta the days are balmy and the nights are cool. If I could create a paradise weather, this would be it.

Impromptu bands and dances heat up the beach. ¡Caliente!

Yes, Puerto Vallarta gets hot in summer, and we have a wild rainy season that dumps inches of water in minutes, but the rest of the time it is nearly perfect. Like most of my life before now, when I finally realized how easy it is just to give up, cold nights feel like 20 years ago when I recall them. So I don’t. I just look ahead and stay warm, with anticipation of more giving up in the future.